


Watch With Glittering Eyes

by Kellyscams



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Boys In Love, Cat Bucky Barnes, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Familiars, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Top Steve Rogers, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: Witch Steve and familiar Bucky have a fun night together.





	Watch With Glittering Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> just a little something for Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day.

The brown paper bags full of groceries crinkle in Steve’s arms as he walks down the dirt road to home. Thoughts of the Grand Council and a Seventh Count of Reckless Use of Magic and today’s trial weigh on his mind. He really hadn’t been worried, even if a guilty verdict held the chance of him being arrested. It went fine, of course -- it always did -- but he was glad to get it over and done with and he’ll be glad to get home where he can brew some hazelnut soup. That’s if he doesn’t get talked into making fish. Again.

The cottage is always a welcoming sight. Home always made something warm and right fill his chest. The home Steve grew up in with his late mother isn’t located on a heavily populated or well-traveled road. It isn’t large and doesn’t boast with ostentatious arrogance. It’s always been a simple and quaint home, with its sloping straw roof and cobblestone chimney rising out of the middle of it. Made of thick clay -- yellow, Mama’s favorite color -- and large windows that let the sun in from dawn to dusk, it’s the sort of place that felt approachable day and night even with its creaky, wooden floorboards and built-in bookshelves overflowing with books from spellbinding to conjuring to potions. 

Noticing that the flowers in the garden at the start of the walkway are beginning to wilt, Steve waves his hand over them. Warmth rushes through his fingers as his magic runs through them and into the flowers. The blossoms slowly bloomed again as Steve’s magic unspools from him and breathes life back into them. A charge forms between him and the flowers now -- a silky, opulent sensation that belongs to the magic of a natural witch. It’d linger for a moment or two as their energies mixed together. As a natural witch, Steve’s magic draws a strong connection to the elements -- earth, air, fire, water -- and as he continues down the path, the feeling stretches like cotton candy until it finally eases apart from him completely. 

Steve’s shoes clack on the stone path that leads right up to the stone steps of his cottage. Where a small, gray tabby cat is curled up on the top one, napping in the sun. 

His right ear twitches with Steve’s approach. Before Steve even takes another step his eyes open. Left one first, then the right, and then those bright, steel-blue eyes stay open and watch Steve as he comes to the door. 

“What happened?” Steve asks as he fishes his ring of keys out of the deep pocket of his trenchcoat. “Did you lock yourself out?”

The cat doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but Steve can see the hints of an eye roll as he quickly shakes his head and arches his back in a long, drawn-out stretch. He licks his lips and sits, tail curled around his paws. He waits for Steve to balance the grocery bags while trying to fit the iron key into the keyhole of the front door. 

At first glance, the cat looks like any of the strays roaming around the dirt streets of Brooklyn. Even after a closer look -- even someone with talent and experience -- might still be fooled. Steve, himself, didn’t know the damn cat was anything more than a normal cat for a week when they first met ten years ago. Maybe because it’d been a decade now, but those curious, piercing, and _watchful_ eyes of his are such a dead giveaway, Steve can’t understand how he’d ever thought this little bastard was just a cat. 

Once he gets the door unlocked and pushed it open, the cat shimmies between both his legs to get inside first. Steve almost drops the bags in the process.

“After you, your highness,” he grunts as he shuts the door behind him with his foot. “Thanks for your help.”

Inside, the cottage is cozy. Always has been. The whole thing is one big room with several wooden beams and a loft bedroom. Sun pours in through all the windows; even the specks of dust that twirl merrily here and there glow. On the far end sits a wooden table and a row of cupboards where Steve will put away his groceries. Over in the big, stone fireplace hangs a black cauldron. 

Steve puts the bags down on the table. At the same time, the cat jumps up onto it and rubs against them. One even falls over, the contents spilling out of the tabletop. Before Steve can try to clean it up, the cat starts pawing at one of the cans. He looks up at Steve and knocks it off the table. 

“Aw, come on, Bucky.” Steve huffs as he bends over to retrieve the fallen can. “Was that _really_ necessary? Are you _still_ mad at me?”

The cat sticks his nose up before leaping off the table to walk behind the wooden pantry and coming back out from behind it on two human legs. He wears only a pair of loose-fitting drawstring trousers with a hole cut out of the back to make room for his tail. Bucky has to count his blessings that he isn’t a shapeshifter whose clothes don’t transform when they did. As a familiar, Bucky’s clothes change with him from cat to human. 

Bucky stretches his arms above his head with a yawn. Claws extend from his fingers and then retract as he brings his arms back down -- scratching at the cat ears atop his head along the way -- and his whiskers shake a little when he crinkles his nose. Behind him, his tail flicks once and then just sways slightly as he walks back to the table. 

“How’d it go?” he asks instead of answering Steve’s question. “Did you get my crackers?”

Reaching into the bag that Bucky _didn’t_ knock over, Steve pulls out the bag of crackers he wants. Since a little brown-nosing could work in his favor, he opens it before handing it over to Bucky. Bucky says nothing about Steve’s gesture and just takes it, sticking his hand in the bag for a cracker. He shoves the thing into his mouth and waits for Steve to respond to the more important of his questions. Well, _maybe_ the more important question. Bucky is a sucker for those damn treats. 

“It was fine.” Steve sighs as he unpacks the rest of the groceries. “Just like it always is.”

“So, you’re not getting arrested?” 

“Nope.”

“What’d they say?”

“They _said…_” Steve needs to make some room in the cupboard for a new can of worm’s wort. He puts the canis root on the counter next to the whole bag of hazelnuts for his soup. “That one more cause of collateral damage without the support of a Guild and I’ll be arrested for reckless use of magic and vigilantism.” He turns back around before unpacking the rest and leans against the counter. Folds his arms over his chest. “Just like they always do.”

Bucky shoves more crackers into his mouth. “Seven counts in two years.”

Just like Steve was reminded of during the trial. Seven counts of Reckless Use of Magic and Vigilantism because Steve was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time depending on how one looked at it. Some magic-users try to take advantage of non-magic users. They bully or threaten or outright force people into paying for their so-called protection of others that would harm or rob them. When _they’re _the ones doing that very thing anyway. 

“And you’ve known me for ten,” Steve mutters. “Long enough to know I can’t run away when I see someone being taken advantage of. Running away feels wrong.”

Which is why he didn’t. Steve has never backed down or ran away when he saw it -- or any other injustice for that matter -- happening. Even before he met Bucky and had trouble finding an outlet for his magic. When he was a little shrimp of a thing as a child -- with breathing problems and a weak heart and was sick all the time -- Steve would rush to the aid of those in need. That was before he had his very own familiar. Before Bucky helped him channel the magic that’d been locked inside of him. The sicknesses stopped, too. A witch -- or, any magic user, Steve supposed -- disconnected from their magic was never all that healthy. 

“_Yes_,” Bucky hisses with an indignant lift of his chin. “I know. I’ve been patching you up since you were fifteen-years-old. Do you know what happens to _me_ if _you_ go to jail?”

Steve snorts and pushes away from the counter. He goes to the table, where Bucky’s pulled his legs up and criss-crossed them as he keeps eating the crackers. They might be gone by tonight. Steve drops his hand over Bucky’s head to scratch between his ears, but Bucky jerks away the second he does. 

“And all this time I thought it was _me_ you were worried about.”

“I _am_ worried about you, punk. But it goes without saying that if _you_ get arrested, then _I’m_ on my own.”

That’s not entirely true, but he’s not really wrong either. There are places he can go -- Steve’s friends will take him in, but not without great risk. Bucky’s a familiar. Many people will do whatever it takes to get a chance to contract a familiar. A familiar’s magic is completely pure. And a pure source of magic is hard to come by. 

Bucky’s not _Steve’s_ familiar. There’s no magical contract between the two of them. No binding spells or obligation charms that makes Bucky his. Familiars -- rare, magical creatures born somewhere between the current of magic and the mortal world -- are known to be fiercely independent when not contracted to someone, but Bucky’s stayed with Steve all these years anyway. Their relationship might be uniquely unheard of, but it’s been working for them. And if there’s one thing Steve’s learned about _this_ particular cat familiar is that he craves affection and lives for attention. Though he could make it as a stray just on his own out in the world as he did before meeting Steve, Bucky’s life is better when he has someone to take care of him. A home to go to. People to love and socialize with. 

“Okay,” Steve relents. “You’re right. I’ll be more careful next time.” He leans in to kiss Bucky’s cheek, but Bucky defiantly pulls away and denies him the chance. “Oh, come on! You haven’t let me kiss you since I got the Grand Council’s summon the other day!”

Slowly taking out another handful of crackers, Bucky carefully places one on his tongue and makes a sensual show of pulling it into his mouth. He chews dramatically, eyes on Steve the whole time, before exposing his neck just as he swallows. 

“I _know_,” Bucky says when his little show is over. “It’s the only way you learn.”

Eyeing his kitten for a long, drawn-out moment -- the only break in eye contact is the one time Bucky blinks -- Steve flicks his fingers at him. There’s a quick tingling sensation that shoots through his hand -- conjuring an element always feels a bit different -- and from the tips of Steve’s fingers come several drops of water, each of them glistening like tiny diamonds in the sun as they fly at Bucky’s face. They hit. Precise and accurate, and Bucky lets out a startled, high-pitched meow before rapidly shaking his head and trying to rub the moisture away with the back of his hand. 

Steve can’t help laughing at Bucky’s reaction. It’s always priceless, even if the cost is Bucky glaring at him and baring his tiny fangs in a hiss. 

“Oh, come on!” Steve chuckles. “That was funny.”

“Sure,” Bucky grumbles. Slips off of the table with the bag of crackers still clutched in his hands. “Hilarious.”

Before he can get away -- trying to sneak the crackers away from the table keeps him from phasing back to his cat form and escaping quickly -- Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist to keep him there. 

“Hey, hey!” He pulls Bucky into his chest. “You know the rules.” Steve snatches the bag out of Bucky’s hands. “No food away from the table.” 

“No!” Bucky whines the second his snack is taken from him and suddenly becomes very affectionate. Starts rubbing his cheek against Steve’s. “_Please_, Steve… gimme my crackers?”

Since Bucky’s getting all cuddly in an attempt to get his crackers back, he’s turned enough that Steve can run his hand along his back. When he gets to that oh-so-sensitive spot right above his tail, Bucky’s backside pushes back against Steve’s palm. Whimpers as he does. Steve does it again. This time, Bucky’s tail wraps around the middle of Steve’s leg. 

“Mm.” Steve scratches under Bucky’s neck. “Gimme a kiss then.”

Not giving in to that, Bucky makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, and Steve finds himself stumbling forward when all Bucky’s weight disappears as he phases back to a cat. He strolls away from Steve with his tail lifted up high. Bucky goes to the bookshelf -- his favorite spot -- still soaked in sun 

Chuckling to himself, Steve waits until Bucky gets settled -- which means pawing at the pages of the opened book up there until getting to the next page and curling up on top of it -- before going over there and tapping on the side of it. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Bucky.” Bucky lifts his head just enough that Steve knows he’s got his attention. “Love you.”

His kitten blinks at him, long and drawn out the way he does when he’s happy, and then unfolds one arm to quickly boop the tip of Steve’s nose. Bucky goes right back to resting against the book as though he’s done nothing at all. Steve grins and goes to finish putting the groceries away. He leaves the open bag of crackers out on the table.

After dinner -- fish instead of hazelnut soup because somehow Bucky convinces Steve to make some sort of fish dish at least four times a week -- Steve sets out to prepare for tomorrow’s job. As a magic-user-- actively engaged in _using_ his magic to perform public services whether he intends to or not -- without a Guild, Steve needs to take odd jobs to make ends meet. A cleansing here and a spell there for whatever price Steve can bargain. If Steve joined a Guild he’d have a buffet of jobs to choose from. People -- both magic and non-magic users alike -- turn to Guilds searching for all sorts of tasks to be done. It’s not that he has anything _against_ Guilds, but the thought of having to serve someone else’s agenda when corruption and need for power can easily shadow the desire to do the right thing simply turns his stomach. Steve’s been approached by several Guilds in the past. Even notable and quite famous ones before. 

When Steve’s fallen on hard times, Shield’s one of the only Guilds he’s ever considered joining. They’re run by Nick Fury. Nick’s a hypnotist, born with a rare and unique power to make suggestions of the mind. While Steve has aided Nick’s Guild on tasks in the past, he’s just never been able to bring himself to join. Nick’s never been insulted and has helped Steve when he’s needed it here and there. To be honest, he’s one of the very few Guild directors that Steve trusts. In all the years he’s been asking Steve to join Shield, he’s never -- not once -- attempted to use any form of suggestion on him at all. 

The biggest problem with not belonging to a Guild is not having the insurance to protect him from being summoned for another trial in front of the Grand Council of High Magic. Without that, he’s responsible for the damages that go on during any magical mishaps that might happen when he feels the need to intervene with the injustices that sometimes go on. The most that’s ever happened over the years is having to pay fines -- sometimes some hefty fines -- but nothing any more serious than that. Steve’s not _really_ worried that he’ll be arrested and see the inside of a prison cell, but the chance is still there. And for Bucky’s sake more than his, Steve can’t let that happen. 

Which is why he’s now concentrating on preparing for the job he’s got tomorrow morning at the Barton’s farmhouse. On the table are several piles of seeds. Steve’s already grown a few plants -- sage and rosemary and lavender -- and still needs a few more before he’s ready to move on to the next step so he picks up a few seeds, holds them in the palm of his hand, and in a few seconds he has a handful of fresh thyme. Pushing his sleeve up, Steve needs to snap his fingers a few times to get the spark he needs to burn the ends together. That spark ends up bursting into several and then igniting into a much too large flame -- which burns all the thyme and a little bit of Steve’s fingers -- when a certain cat suddenly darts between his legs and leaps over the table. 

“Bucky,” Steve grumbles and sticks his burned fingers into his mouth. “Really?”

Bucky ignores him and runs back the other way. Nearly knocks over Steve’s pile of already grown sage on his way, but Steve manages to catch it all before it falls. Steve sighs -- and doesn’t hold in a smile as Bucky skitters across the floor again, no, not at all -- and grows some more thyme to replace the ruined batch. Steve’s never really been all that good with fire anyway. He works best with water and earth -- he’s particularly good with making shields out of precious metals. 

After just a few minutes, Bucky seems to tire of his back and forth, and instead takes to rubbing up against Steve’s legs as Steve finishes growing his herbs. That’s easy enough to ignore. Unfortunately, Bucky’s attention span is short tonight, and soon enough he’s just sitting on the floor just _staring_ up at Steve. Which, just a few minutes later, changes to sitting _on_ the table… in his _human_ form. A thing Bucky damn well knows Steve _can’t_ ignore no matter _how_ hard he tries. Especially when Bucky sighs dramatically and drops back to his elbows. Steve fumbles a bit with tying his herbs and huffs.

“Okay, what?” Steve lets his stuff fall and gives his attention to his attention-seeking cat. “What do you want?” 

Bucky pouts. 

“I’m _bored_,” he whines. 

“I see that.” Steve chuckles. “Go find something to do.”

Bucky’s nose crinkles a bit, making his whiskers wiggle. He nudges his finger into Steve’s shoulder, extending one claw and poking Steve with it.

“Play with me.”

“I can’t. I’m getting ready for tomorrow.”

Releasing a very discontented groan -- mixed with something of a feline sounding whine -- Bucky tosses his head back and then goes right back to pouting at Steve while Steve attempts to go back to work. 

“What’re you doin’ tomorrow?”

“Clint and Laura have trolls in their gardens.”

“Trolls?”

That sees Bucky perking up a little. Trolls -- nasty little things with hairy faces and flat noses that live underground and usually come above ground around springtime to eat out of people’s gardens -- are some of Bucky’s favorite creatures to chase around. For all his intrigue and excitement at the possibility of getting to chase around a troll or two, he’s not even very good at catching them. In fact, in the ten years Steve’s known him, he’s never actually seen Bucky catch one. He just likes to chase them around and pounce at them. 

“No,” Steve says before Bucky even asked anything about chasing the trolls out of the Barton’s gardens. 

“Aw,” Bucky whines again. “Why not?”

“Because.” He gets back to work. “The Bartons need to have the trolls gone for the _whole_ season, not just a day or two.” Steve holds up the herbs he’s been trying to tie together. “_So_… if you want me to keep buying you crackers…” Which are all gone already. “You gotta let me finish.”

“Y’know,” Bucky huffs. “I dunno why I stay here. S’not like you take care of me.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes as he continues to work. Tomorrow, he’ll be going to cleanse the Barton’s garden of their trolls and leave them with the bundle of plants he’s growing tonight infused with his magic so that they can use them throughout the season to keep them out. That’s if he can ever finish getting these herbs ready. And with Bucky huffing and sighing and pouting at him like this, it’s very difficult. 

There’s a small mirror on the table -- Bucky left it there earlier when he was finished primping and priming himself for probably the tenth time that day -- and with all the candles lit it makes a reflective light shine up on the ceiling. Steve smirks. Bucky hasn’t noticed it yet, and he’ll hate Steve afterward, but it’s just too tempting. Steve picks up the mirror. Makes that white light trail across the ceiling and along the wall. And the second -- the _instant_ \-- it catches Bucky’s attention, his eyes go wide. His ears twitch, the tip of his tail flicks, and he’s sprinting off the table to try to grab the light on the wall. Even in human form. He never minds it when Steve teases him like this when he’s still a cat. Once he realizes his feline instincts have taken over while he’s in human form he’s not going to be too thrilled with Steve for doing it. 

Still, Steve chuckles while he jerks the mirror up and down as Bucky’s hands slap against the wall over and over and over. No matter how silly it might look it’s still completely adorable. Every attempt Bucky makes at catching something that’s not even tangible -- even if he has to _hop_ up to try to reach -- makes him so damn excited that it makes Steve laugh every time. 

Until, of course, he goes a little too high and Bucky loses focus on the light. When that happens, he quickly realizes what he’s doing. Instinct gone, Bucky’s spine stiffens and he slowly turns around to glare at Steve. That look has Steve stretching his lips in a half-hearted apology. Hard to convey an apology when he’s trying so hard not to laugh though. 

“Mhm,” Bucky murmurs, and without a word, he marches back over, looks Steve right in the eyes, and simply knocks Steve’s glass of water right over. 

“Hey!” Steve exclaims as the water spills into his lap. “Bucky!” 

“Oh,” he said. “So, it’s funny for you to squirt water at me but not for me to knock it all over you, hm?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky has _got_ to realize he’s made a mistake. Steve is not above playing these childish games -- Bucky has been practically _begging_ Steve to play with him anyway -- and, by the fall of Bucky’s face when Steve flicks his gaze back up at him, he knows it. 

“No.” Bucky’s already backing away. “Steve, don’t you dare.”

Slowing rising out of his chair with a smirk, Steve gives him a shrug. The air is so charged with magic right now the hair on the back of his neck stands. Bucky doesn’t usually use his magic -- not much of it anyway -- but it’s leaking out of him now in an attempt to get Steve to back off. Just a natural response. A defensive charm to ward off potential danger. 

It doesn’t work too much on Steve though. He’s used to it. And the magic swirling between them is like a playful beam of sunlight. Warming and full of life. He can’t see magic the way Bucky can -- as a magical creature, Bucky sees the world in ways that magic-using humans can’t -- but this is something Steve knows. He can feel it. 

“You started it.” 

When he raises his hand, palm facing the ceiling, Bucky bares his tiny fangs and gives him an indignant hiss. Steve holds in a laugh and lifts his eyebrows. 

“Oh, really?” he asked as water begins to gather in his hand. “You’re going to act like that.”

The water starts to take the clear shape of a ball and, try as he might, Bucky can’t exactly ignore that. Steve has amazing accuracy. The wheels in Bucky’s mind are clearly turning as he runs over how he should handle this. Steve can see the different ideas forming one by one as his eyes dart back and forth. Bucky can try pouncing at him right now, but that’s never worked well for him in the past. He could turn back into a cat to try to escape that way, but if Steve hits him -- and there’s a good chance he will -- it’ll leave Bucky sopping wet just like the day they met. When he’s all wet in cat form, he has trouble phasing back. The water throws off his equilibrium. Of course, he can always just try running away as is, but that simply leaves Steve with his most open target, and now that the water ball is whole and complete and hovering over Steve’s tingly palm, Bucky must get a little desperate since a tiny whine breaks through his throat and he resorts to his dirtier tricks. 

“You… you can’t…” Bucky whimpers. All cute and pathetic like. 

“And why is that?”

“Because,” he says. Soft and innocent. Bucky peers at him through long, luscious lashes. Bright eyes wide and weepy, and, damn it, that look is not fair. “I’m your kitty.”

A chill tiptoes down Steve’s spine. That magical defensive charm has morphed to just charm. Well, maybe a bit of magical charm still lingers as Bucky’s teeth graze over his lip. Steve’s water ball falters a bit and a few drops splatter across the palm of his hand. Incidentally, that just so happens to remind Steve as to _why_ his lap is all wet. Once his concentration is back where it started, his water ball retains its shape again. Bucky whimpers and tries another approach. 

Instead of backing away, Bucky takes a cautious step forward. Slides his foot silently across the floor so that he’s just a little closer to Steve. 

“You can put _that_ thing away.” He scowls at the water Steve’s holding, his ears swiveling and pressing back against the top of his head a bit. “And start a fire instead.” Steve’s gaze shifts to the hearth where there’s just some leftover soot and cinder from last night. “You can keep me warm. Gimme kisses--”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, _now_ you’ll let me kiss you?”

“_Shit_,” Bucky mutters.

There’s a slight puff to his tail as he twirls around to sprint away with Steve right on his heels. Bucky, all squeals and giggles, runs for the ladder that leads up to the loft. The first ball Steve tosses whizzes by Bucky’s head and splashes the wooden beam he dashing by. A few drops must land on him since he lets out an irritated meow and hiss. He only makes it through half the living room before Steve is wrapping an arm around his waist. The two of them topple to the floor. They roll over once and end up on the rug in front of the fireplace with Steve hovered over Bucky, holding another dreaded water ball just inches from his head. 

“_No_,” Bucky whines. His hips wiggle under Steve’s. “Steve! _Please_….”

Bucky’s eyes squeeze tight and he whimpers when Steve brings his hand even closer to him. One wrong move and Bucky’s going to be soaked so he’s now holding perfectly still. Even trying to pull away from Steve without actually moving anywhere. 

“Hm.” Steve lobs the ball up once. It lands lightly in his hand, a few droplets sliding down the side of his hand and landing on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky flinches and mews softly. “You’re gonna be a good kitty?”

“Mhm.” He nods his head quickly. Keeping his body tight and tense under Steve’s, he cracks one eye open. “Mew?”

Smiling, Steve says, “Now say you love me.”

Eyes opening all the way now, Bucky smiles back. Whispers, “I love you.” 

Bucky starts rubbing his head against Steve’s arm, even though it could potentially make him drop the water right onto his head. Both his ears twitch, but he just keeps on nuzzling into him. 

“Oh,” Steve murmurs and kisses the tip of his nose. “I love you.”

“Of course you do,” he says with a grin. “I’m adorable.”

“Hey.” Steve swivels his hand back and forth. “I can still use this.”

Lips turning down, Bucky pouts and snuggles against his arm again. “Uh-ah. You don’t have to. You love me, remember?”

Steve just can’t help it. Big eyes peering up at him, pouty lips pushed out, soft fur brushing against his skin. Magic crackling through the air. Bucky’s right. He’s too adorable. 

Steve closes his hand. Squashes the water ball, and though his palm still has a bit of moisture left on it, he takes to scratching between Bucky’s ears. As though the act catches him by surprise, Bucky chirps. His eyes fall closed and he tilts his head back to give him better access to his favorite spot. And Steve, because he just loves spoiling his kitty, gives him what he wants. When his fingers rub over Bucky’s throat, he immediately starts purring. 

“Mmm…” Steve coos. “Does my kitty like that?”

Bucky’s mouth drops open, but all he says is, “Kiss me, Steve.”

“Oh, with pleasure.”

The second Steve catches Bucky’s mouth, Bucky moans into his. His tail swishes and wraps around Steve’s ankle. Smiling, Steve chuckles and lifts away. 

“Someone’s frisky,” he murmurs in Bucky’s ear. Presses his palm over Bucky’s trousers and gets a high-pitched sound in response. 

“St-Steve…”

He’s already close -- trembling and breathless -- even at least three weeks away from his next heat. A few whimpers crawl out of his throat so Steve just keeps it up. Rubs more vigorously when Bucky starts clawing at the floor. Bucky’s hips jerk up further into Steve’s palm and he keeps trying to say things but mostly gets out noises. Grunts and cries and meows. 

“Steve!” he screeches helplessly. “Steve… Steve… Steve…”

“Come, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “And then I’m gonna have my way with you…”

“_Oh_!” Bucky whines and thrusts up one last time before the front of his pants are wet and he yells Steve’s name again. 

Bucky’s still panting and trembling as Steve tugs at the drawstrings of his pants. Even though his sweet kitty just got off seconds ago, he’s desperate enough to get Steve inside of him that he quickly helps out by lifting his hips up and getting his tail out of the way. As soon as his pants are off, Bucky’s rolling onto his stomach and pushing up on his knees. 

It’s an instinct, this desire to roll over and present himself like that. To be mounted and taken. Bucky’s already slicked -- wet and dripping, his hole quivering as he waits to be filled. Steve will fill him up soon enough. His cock is full and leaking and just aching to get inside of him. But he first gives a teasing push with the pad of his thumb since Steve always wants the pleasure of looking at his Bucky’s face when they’re together. He’ll either roll him back over or pull him onto his lap in just a moment or two. For right now though, he’s enjoying the whimpering and panting his thumb alone is causing as Bucky’s claws continue to dig small marks into the floorboards. 

“Don’t…” Bucky slams a palm down. “Don’t tease me, Steve… p-please…”

“Aw,” Steve teases. Trails his fingers down his spine and adds a bit of pressure to that oh-so-sensitive spot at the base, making Bucky’s hips lift and a tremble rock through him. “You _did_ just come, sweet kitty.”

Bucky’s pure, unadulterated magic saturates the air. It’s thick and heavy and filled with every tantalizing scent Steve can imagine. 

A high-pitched whine breaks in Bucky’s throat when Steve’s thumb pushes in a bit more. Ears falling flat against his head, he slips his tail around Steve’s wrist. There’s a lot more strength to Bucky’s tail than it might appear and with just one tug, he pulls Steve’s hand away.

“Fuck me, Steve,” he whispers. “Please.”

“C’mere, kitty.” Hands on Bucky’s hips, Steve guides him back around. “I wanna look at you.”

Bucky moves easily. Eagerly even as he climbs onto Steve’s lap. Not just out of instinctual desperation either. The second they lock eyes, Bucky’s taking hold of Steve’s face and slamming their lips together. He kisses him like he’s starving for it. Like he _needs_ it. Bucky moans against Steve’s mouth as Steve’s hands travel down his sides. That moan gets stronger when Steve lines himself up against Bucky’s waiting hole.

He melts into Steve’s mouth like he always does as Steve slides in. Slides home as that hot, velvet wraps around him. Heat’s already rolling through Steve’s belly, gathering from sides to navel in molten gold and curling around muscle and bone. When Bucky’s settled on Steve’s lap, he shivers and presses their brows together. Steve glances up at him. Brushes the soft, damp hair away from his face so he can keep looking into Bucky’s eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve moans, and his next thrust feels so amazing he accidentally causes a heavy wind to blow through the room. 

“Now who’s frisky?” Bucky teases. 

Steve growls and grabs Bucky hips to still him and push in deeper. It shocks him so much that he tosses his head back with a howl and helplessly climaxes right away -- thick, milky streaks painting between them as he trembles and cries out Steve’s name. 

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky pants as he recovers from the sudden and unexpected pleasure. He’s still shivering all over. Eyes dark and heated. Hair damp. Skin dotted with beads of sweat. He’s not in heat so two this quickly is taking a toll.

Steve grins. “Oh yeah?”

First answer he gets is something between a trill of a whimper and a moan. Then Bucky shakes his head and throws his arms around Steve’s neck, wraps his legs around his waist and clings onto him. Bucky’s head is hidden between Steve’s neck and shoulder when he shakes it.

“Mm-mm.” He whispers something too soft for Steve to catch. Then, breathless and needy, “Tell me… tell me I’m your good kitty, Steve.”

The soft skin at the side of Bucky’s neck tastes so sweet as Steve sucks at it. He loves -- _adores_ \-- when Bucky gets like this. So soft and pliant against Steve and not hiding his love and need for praise and affection behind silly feline pride. He’ll even hold this last one in until Steve gives him permission. Which won’t be too long. Steve’s close himself. 

“Are you gonna be a good kitty?”

“Oh, yes,” Bucky whines. “Yes, yes.”

“Mm.” Steve gently takes hold of Bucky’s sensitive cock. He gives a tiny squeak and bops his head against Steve’s shoulder once. Twice. Then he smothers his brow across the spot and whines. “I don’t know. You’ve finished twice already. I think you get to wait now.”

His taunting is accompanied by his thumb rubbing over Bucky’s leaking slit. The limbs locked around him tighten. Bucky tries for a few words but gets no further than muffled sounds. Only a few moments go by before he tries begging. 

“Please…” There’s a slight sniffle in there. “Oh, Steve, I need… I’ll be such a good... oh, do that… that again.”

Steve chuckles as he gives Bucky’s cockhead another squeeze, bringing forth a few clear drops of pre-come. He starts pecking at Bucky’s cheek when Bucky tries stilling his hips. 

“Want me to make you feel good again, Bucky? Like my good little kitty?”

Bucky starts meowing and nodding. “Please. Say it. Tell me I’m your good kitty.”

“You are, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. Thrusts deep and hard and feels himself beginning to come undone. “You’re a good kitty. My good kitty.”

Bucky kisses him, whimpering against his mouth. “Can I… Steve, can I…?”

“Yes, good kitty. Yes, yes.” Steve’s too far gone now anyway. Bucky’s hot, tight body completely wrapped around him. The sweat-soaked night beating like wings around them. His head spinning with the closeness of oncoming pleasure. It’s all too much. “Bucky.” His name falls from Steve’s lips. “Bucky… Bucky… Bucky…”

He’s only mildly aware of Bucky saying his name as well. Over and over, their names mixing together as rapture falls upon them both. Steve pulls Bucky that much closer, petting his hand over his head as he leans back against the front of the couch. They’re both still trembling, glowing in the aftermath when Bucky lets out a contented sigh and starts rubbing his cheek against Steve’s shoulder. 

Warmth still clings to their sweat-soaked skin, but that will soon slip away and leave the cool air to skim over them. Steve adjust himself just a little -- earns himself an irritated huff from Bucky for disturbing him in the slightest -- so he can stretch his arm towards the fireplace. 

“Don’t burn the place down,” Bucky mumbles as he gets himself comfortable again.

“Be quiet, kitty.”

It takes two tries, but he jerks his index finger at the hearth and a spark lands on the logs, successfully igniting a fire. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers. 

Bucky smiles against him and purrs.

Steve only means to close his eyes for a few minutes, but when he opens them again, the fire has burned down to just an orange smolder and he still has work to get done. But Bucky is still napping on top of him. There’s a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth -- which he’ll vehemently deny is there at all if Steve tries to tease him about it. 

Just a few feet away is the oversized, velvet pillow that Bucky sleeps on sometimes. If Steve can just reach it, he might be able to slip Bucky onto it without waking him. Steve’s leg is just long enough to extend out so that he can curl his toes around the corner of the pillow and drag it back over. Bucky lifts his head once without even opening his eyes as Steve does it. It’s not until he’s actually trying to move Bucky onto the pillow that Steve runs into trouble. 

“Mm-mm,” Bucky grumbles. Instead of letting Steve move him, he simply makes himself more comfortable by curling onto his lap. “M’sleepin’.” 

“I know,” Steve said. “But I have to finish getting ready for the morning.”

Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t convince him. “Why can’t you just use some stones?”

Steve does have a few hexing stones that would work. Hand-sized, round, and smooth. Perfect for holding the magic Steve can put into them. He even has several around his property to ward off potential danger. There’s just one problem.

“Can’t. You know stone is too unstable. If I put magic into it and anyone other than another witch touches it they’ll get sick.”

“So?”

Steve snorts. “So? So, the Bartons have kids, you know that.”

“Oh,” Bucky grumbles, “right. The kids.”

“Right. So, come on.” Steve doesn’t try to actually get him to move yet. “I have to finish.”

Bucky huffs and mutters a few things before starting to crawl off of Steve without ever actually opening his eyes. He kneads at the pillow a bit and then tucks his arms under his head to go back to sleep. 

“Light me a fire again,” he mumbles right before Steve leaves. 

“Anything for you, sweetie,” Steve scoffs. He does it though. Goes over to the fireplace so he doesn’t take the chance tossing any flames around. When he turns again, Bucky still hasn’t phased back to a cat, but he’s curled up on his pillow, sleeping already. "Love you."

Just as Steve settles back down at the table to finish with his work, he hears a soft, quiet, "I love you, too, Steve," and smiles at all the magic he's so lucky to've found.


End file.
